


life beings as it surely all ends in blood

by VaguelyDownwards



Category: GARO (TV)
Genre: Creeping Dread, Dubious Consent, Jinga is his own warning, M/M, Violence, persistant feelings of inadequacy, poor decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-07-29 01:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16253483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaguelyDownwards/pseuds/VaguelyDownwards
Summary: After the events of Kami no Kiba, Ryuga is determined to do whatever it takes to prevent something like that from happening again, even if that means doing it himself this time.





	1. the joy or the hate hardly matters

**Author's Note:**

> You can read the first chapter as a mostly G-rated bit of introspection, but it's all downhill from there. Apologies for the categorization shuffle and constantly changing the title, I wasn't really sure how I was going to be posting things.

He has the first dream three nights after they did not reach the moon. It's not much, not by the standards of Makai society. Certainly they all slept poorly as they left Vol City. A life spent fighting nightmares means a dreamscape haunted by them, and Knights and Priests learn early on to either cope or quit. Or succumb to that darkness, but there's no sense lingering on that thought.

No, this one is blessedly brief, and nothing like the nights when Rian shook him awake, sweat-soaked and gasping, his mother's face starkly precise in his memory. Nothing so cruel or so desparate. Still, there is something in the way Jinga looks at him, the smug curl of his lips, like he took some secret with him back to Makai when he was sealed again. Ryuga spends the rest of the night going through his swordsmanship forms, focusing on the certainty of each pose that he has mastered since childhood, careful to keep his breathing quiet so as to not wake Rian nearby.

 

* * *

 

The next day he asks Rian if she knows any Knights that use magic.

"Hmm, not off the top of my head, no, but I'm sure it's been done," she says. "People have tried all kinds of things to fight Horrors."

"Why don't we teach that sort of thing to Knights? I mean, not that I don't appreciate having you around," he adds quickly, "but not every Knight has the opportunity to travel with a Priest. Seems like we should at least know some basics."

"Most of them probably don't have the time for both. Or did you think I just woke up one day and knew how to enchant my bullets?"

"Just the basics, I said. We have time now, don't we?"

Rian rolls her eyes and smiles at him. "You still haven't mastered this training exercise, and don't think you're getting out of it. Come on, get comfortable, I'm sure this break won't last."

Grumbling, Ryuga crosses his legs and straightens his back, preparing for another round as Rian lights the candles on the training board. "And when I beat it this time? Will you show me?"

"If you beat it this time," she says, eyes glistening. "But I had better be really impressed."

 

* * *

 

He does beat it this time. She throws in an extra warrior right at the end, just as he thinks he's finished and his guard is down. He feels something in the air change, a weight like thick humidity, and dodges just in time for the arrow to graze his skin. He strikes down the last warrior easily once the surprise is gone, and in those moments he can almost feel an alien sense of pride. Like he's being eyed up as the prize pig, the largest and most beautiful and sure to be the most delicious.

He shakes the sensation as he comes out of the trance to see Rian beaming at him. "See? I knew you could do it."

"You didn't sound so sure earlier," he grunts, stretching out the aches he's accumulated.

"I can't let you get too complacent. The title of Garo is a duty, not a trophy."

"Of course." He settles back. "So about magic?"

"You're serious about that? Well, I suppose a little isn't a terrible idea. And we do have the time. Okay, you'll need to really focus for this, are you ready?" And she shows him the first spell she learned when she was a little girl. He struggles, but he already knows all too well what discipline is, and it isn't too different from his sword forms.

 

* * *

 

Jinga is still in his dreams that night, taunting him. This time when he can't sleep, he slips Rian's brush out of her pack and practices the spell again and again.

 

* * *

 

"You're learning fast," Rian remarks as she goes over another spell with him. Has she caught on to his nightly training sessions?

"I have a good teacher," he says, and hopes he sounds casual.

"Don't sell yourself short. You're obviously working hard, too."

"Well, you know. Whatever helps in the fight against the Horrors."

"Of course. Maybe they'll start issuing swords to Priests, too."

"Er, did you want one?" The concept hadn't crossed his mind, but now that he thinks about it, it seems only fair. She's certainly an accomplished fighter already.

"No, not at all," she says with a laugh. "I'm much happier with my pistol. But it would be nice to be able to lift a soul metal sword on my own. Seems a bit silly that we aren't taught at least that much."

"Now you know how I feel about magic. Here, it takes practice, but I'll show you."

 

* * *

 

He sleeps better without the moon watching overhead. Under the starlit darkness of the new moon, his dreams are free of Jinga's laugh, his sly smile, the way he leans in close during a fight to leer at him. He's aware of it, too, like he should feel guilty for finally getting a decent night's rest. He should struggle, shouldn't he? Doesn't he deserve a few troubled nights for the ones he failed to save? He's supposed to be the best, and yet he strained so hard to defeat one Horror that he had already cut down once before. How can he justify sleeping easy with a record like that?

He sleeps anyway, because he hasn't lately, and he can only put it off so long. He doesn't remember his dreams, only that a certain mocking figure is blessedly absent. He wakes rested, a lingering unease dissolving in the corners of his thoughts, and the image of Bambi's altar crystal clear in his mind.

 

* * *

 

He is very careful to bring it up with Rian. They're wandering the city, following Rian's tracker to items that need purifying. Between her teaching and his training, he can interpret the symbols on it now. He probably should have learned the Makai language sooner. Still, it looks like the city remains relatively clear of malice.

"Do you ever think," he begins uncertainly. "Do you think it might be more helpful to train against real Horrors?"

Rian just laughs. "We already fight real Horrors. It's kind of our job."

"True. But they're definitely not, uh, all the same caliber. Cutting down a thousand weak Horrors won't prepare us for any of the more powerful ones. We've been lucky so far--"

"We've been very, _very_ good so far," she corrects him. "You are the Golden Knight Garo, which is not a title given lightly."

"And I need to prove that I've earned it."

"I'd say you've more than earned it. You wouldn't have that armor if you hadn't."

Ryuga is at a loss for words for a moment, but only a moment. "I very nearly wasn't good enough, back on the ark. What if I had failed? What if a little more training would have made the difference?"

"But you didn't fail, so there's no point in agonizing over it. Besides, we have the simulations. What else are we supposed to do, intentionally summon something nasty that we might not be able to contain?"

"No, no, of course not," he says hastily, his mouth dry. "You're right, that's ridiculous."

"Of course I'm right. Honestly, you Knights take things too seriously sometimes. Don't overthink it. C'mon, we've got one more this way."

He doesn't ask her again.

 

* * *

 

He has been watching the moon slowly fill its space in the sky every night until he can feel it like a weight overhead, round and pale and sickly. He is oiling his coat and checking for tears when he finds just a few silver hairs caught in one of the seams and knows there is no point in trying to stop himself. He has to be sure.

The moon is wide and bright and watchful. It is time, it is time, it is time.


	2. there is nothing but hunger in this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable results of Ryuga's obsession are not going as he had hoped. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything to say for myself. Someone has to do it.

The spell isn't even all that difficult, all things considered. And for something that ought to be forbidden, it didn't take much for Ryuga to nail down the details. He almost hoped there would be some kind of human sacrifice required, some step too far that would force him to give up. But no, even Bambi in her grief hadn't been desperate enough for that. Surely anyone who hadn't given into darkness already would stop at murder. Wouldn't they?

He wonders if she knew she didn't need the armor of so many knights. One set of armor is enough, if it's powerful enough, if it belongs to the Golden Knight. Still. But he didn't come here to think about it. He's done plenty of thinking about it. He came here to act.

The full moon isn't strictly necessary, but it feels right, as does returning to the spot where Bambi fell. He lets the clouds pass overhead, and sets the spell in motion.

Regret is almost instantaneous, the certainty that this is a mistake. So is relief: if this is a mistake, it's officially too late for it to matter. And then he doesn't really have time for either one of those emotions, because he is no longer alone under the moonlight.

"I suppose I should be honored... Ryuga, is it?"

"How would you know? Horrors lose their memory when they're sealed."

"Lucky guess, I suppose. The name sticks in my mind for some reason, so it only feels right to assume it belongs to the one who brought me back. Special occasion?"

Ryuga can't contain his sneer as he draws his sword. "Just business. I'm going to cut you down again, Jinga."

"Bit redundant, if I'm only going to last the night," he says, drawing his own sword, "but I certainly won't pass up the opportunity for some fun."

And he had to have known it would be like this, with only the narrow edge of sharpened blades between himself and the Horror. For a moment they dance apart, but it isn't a fight if they don't close the distance. Then they're trading swings again, the air ringing with the sound of soul metal clashing.

"So what exactly was the plan? One more fight for old times' sake? There's only so much you can do with one night."

"I can do enough." He makes what should be a powerful swing for Jinga's face, but the Horror deflects it effortlessly.

"I'm sure." The smile alone when he speaks is enough to send Ryuga's rage boiling, but Jinga isn't finished. "And when you lose, without the help of your little friends, I'll be gone with the sunrise, is that it? No harm done, and no one needs to know about your failure?"

"I won't fail!" he roars, throwing himself at the Horror. Jinga knocks his sword out of the way and delivers an open-handed slap that makes Ryuga's cheek sting with shame.

"Did it occur to you yet that you're going to lose this fight?" Another blow that he doesn't dodge, this one a kick to his gut, and he stumbles backwards. "Or was that your plan all along, hm?"

Ryuga struggles to maintain composure, gasping through gritted teeth. Jinga's next strike sends him sprawling, forceful enough that he wonders if he has been holding himself back all along. Before he can recover, there is a sword at his throat and a boot on his chest.

"Now, tell me, Golden Knight," says Jinga, lingering on every syllable of the title, "what were you really planning to do with me?"

He can't say it. He cannot possibly tell him his foolish designs of training. It would flatter him too much, to know that Ryuga considered him a threat, or even a worthy opponent. But his silence is too damning in another direction. Jinga's boot moves lower, and under that pressure, he realizes he is painfully, shamefully hard. A smile unfolds across Jinga's face.

"My, my, you should've just asked!" He places his foot back on the ground, and Ryuga finally breathes. He watches with a wary eye as Jinga stoops down to collect his sword and toss it out of reach. Jinga's sword never leaves his hand, still angled at Ryuga's throat as he crouches over him, knees straddling his waist. His free hand roves over Ryuga's body, settling on a sharp tug of his hair when Ryuga's expression becomes too insolent.

Jinga pins him down by weight alone. For such a slender thing, he has an unearthly heaviness about him, a reminder that looks are deceitful. As if he could forget the monster behind the man.

"It all makes sense now," he drawls. "The ritual, all this effort for just one night." The hand tangled in his hair relaxes, meanders downward to cup the traitorous swelling in his pants. He squeezes, and it's all Ryuga can do to keep from whimpering.

"Don't," he whispers. "Please."

The weight lifts immediately. The night air is shockingly cold without Jinga looming over him. "Since you asked so nicely, I've gracefully decided to spare you your pride as a Makai Knight," comes the voice from a few meters away. Ryuga can't bring himself to look to be sure. "Besides, a knight should serve his lord willingly."

Ryuga finally squints upward, starts to drag himself off of the ground. Jinga is standing a short distance away, resting his sword on his shoulder as he stares into the horizon. His back is open and unguarded, and Ryuga's sword isn't that far away. He follows the direction of Jinga's gaze, and tries to tell himself he can see the faintest glimmer of dawn approaching.

"Can you really do it?" The words are soft, seductive, like a lover's invitation. Jinga's head rolls backward ever so slightly, not quite enough to watch Ryuga retrieve his sword.

Jinga shudders and sighs as the blade slides into him, just in time for sunlight to spill over them like Garo's molten gold. Before he dissipates back to Makai, Ryuga swears the expression on his face is one of joy, of release.


	3. rest a heartbeat and I'll get my teeth in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion, and the inevitable result when something gets under one's skin like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gestures vaguely* Jinga, you know?

Ryuga's sleeplessness worsens. He catches fitful naps sometimes, passing out for a few minutes between training sessions, always waking with a start when that face appears again. He tells himself he hasn't slipped, and it's not like anyone died, but he spots Rian watching him carefully sometimes during fights. Looking out for him. Worried when he misses a dodge and takes a hit harder than he should have.

Maybe it's a sort of justice. If he's going to be awake all night with unbecoming thoughts, then he's going to suffer the consequences. He's got blood to spare.

"Do you think someone could be, I don't know, possessed by a Horror?" he finally asks over a hasty lunch.

"Ryuga, we already spend plenty of time hunting down those who have been possessed by Horrors." Rian has taken to answering him with the kind of patience typically reserved for children. Or, perhaps, a loved one who is slowly succumbing to a wasting illness.

"No, I mean. Not quite like that." He fumbles for the words. "If the Horror was gone. Sealed. Do they have any influence from Makai?"

Rian frowns. "Some think so, but it's never been proven. Tradition says that Horrors are drawn to people who already have darkness in their hearts, but a few Priests have proposed that someone might be lured into darkness."

"Why don't we learn about them in training?"

"Every Priest to suggest such a thing was later found to be possessed," she says quietly. "It's not clear if it was a genuine theory, or if it was the Horror speaking."

"Or if they just wanted an excuse for how a Priest could fall like that. I understand." It certainly casts his prospects in a grim light. Wouldn't he know if he was already fallen? He stands abruptly, despite the unfinished meal on the table. "We should be working. Plenty of Horrors still out there."

"Ryuga--" More and more, her patience is replaced by open concern, but she doesn't know the questions to ask.

Maybe a better version of him would have continued the conversation. There were opportunities to talk about misplaced shame in Makai society, the expectations of purity for Knights and Priests despite its impossibility, the refusal to acknowledge that no human is without darkness. It feels like it was so long ago that he struggled to admit his own darkness and find strength in it. But those are conversations that require a different sort of focus, and he knows there will be more comfort in the strength of his sword right now.

* * *

 He develops a new routine for his sleepless nights. The spell is becoming second nature. He doesn't repeat mistakes: he knows exactly how long he has before sunrise, the precise time it takes for his target to coalesce from the shadows. Sometimes he allows himself the indulgence of an early strike, slicing Jinga's image neatly in two before he's had the chance to fully form, savoring the look of shock on his face. Each time, it leaves him giddy, breathing heavily even though he's barely exerted himself. It's enough to know that even if just for a moment, even if his methods may have been underhanded, he had the definitive upper hand.

Tonight is one of those nights. The Watchdogs have assigned another Knight to his area. The implication is that he's falling behind in his duties; there isn't enough work in this city for two Knights. They don't even call him to purify his sword anymore, knowing he hasn't seen enough action for it to matter. The frustration boils inside him--with himself, the Watchdogs, the sorry state of a world that allows Horrors to exist. He practices cutting down the image as soon as he's solid enough for the blade to cut. Focus, summon, slice. Focus, summon, slice. Each time, the surprised expression on Jinga's face fuels him. That's how he should look. Not self-assured and smug, not taunting him through effortless swordplay. He should be afraid. He should be desperate, he should be frantic, he should beg to be spared when Ryuga cuts him down one more time. Focus, summon, slice. Focus, summon--

Jinga catches the swing this time, bringing his sword up to block Ryuga's before the rest of him materializes. "Really now, Golden Knight, how many times are you going to do this?"

Ryuga stumbles backwards, knowing he's wearing the same expression that he use to relish on Jinga. "But Horrors lose their memories," he manages.

"Did I say that?" He steps forward. "I lied." Another step. "I remember everything."

The way he purrs the last word knocks Ryuga out of his shock. This is not how it's supposed to go, and he is too furious to let it end here.

His next swing is powerful, backed by every night he's spent awake, the determination that has brought him so far, the rage that is drowning out his thoughts. He's finally too fast and too strong, enough that not even Jinga can avoid him with his inhuman reflexes. At last, he has the satisfaction of watching Jinga fight defensively, struggling to bring his sword up in time to parry one blow after another. Ryuga scores a line of blood across Jinga's face, and another on his chest, shearing through illusory clothing. The wounds open only briefly, letting fluttering shadows escape before closing again.

"So angry, Golden Knight," laughs Jinga, like he isn't losing this fight. "So strong. Come at me!"

It's not enough to cut him down. It was never enough. That's why he's here, isn't it? If he seals the Horror, he'll just deliver another smug quip about his inevitable return.

He lands another strike, and Jinga stumbles. He savors the little gasp that escapes when he kicks Jinga in the gut, remembering how it felt to be on the receiving end not too long ago.

No, it's not enough just to win. He has to win decisively, to humiliate him, to utterly destroy him. Jinga should be terrified to show his face in the mortal world. It's the least he deserves, after all the suffering he's caused.

How long has he been fighting? The night becomes one long blur. He's winning this time, he's sure of it. He drives into him again and again, straining to hear Jinga's breath hitch despite his attempts to hide it. With each thrust, the sounds he makes become less restrained, his composure bleeding away into a series of wordless noises. It's right, Ryuga thinks, that he should finally be without some sly remark. A sort of poetic justice. He drags his nails down Jinga's back, and this, too, elicits a delightful gasp. Ryuga digs his nails in, pulling Jinga's hips back so that he can sink in deeper, this time drawing out a throaty groan.

This is definitely how it should always have ended, him putting Jinga in his place instead of listening to smug taunts. Isn't it?

His mind slowly clears as he comes, patches of memory falling back into place as the rage cools. Jinga's short, ragged breaths flow together into what first sounds like choked sobs, but gradually raises in volume until Ryuga realizes he is laughing. Bruised, bleeding, naked on all fours, but laughing. Ryuga startles away from him, but Jinga recovers with monstrous speed, on his feet in an instant.

"Oh, my dear Golden Knight," he says, placing his hand on Ryuga's shoulder. "You've made this too easy."

Too late, he notices the dark smoke curling towards him from his own discarded sword. Too late, the sun glimmers in the distance. Already, his burdens are lifting. Maybe it will be a comfort, he thinks.


End file.
